Imagine it’s 1300 years ago, the year 724 AD, the Nara era of Japan. You’ve heard whispers of Kinosaki, a small town nestled along the Sea of Japan. Word has it a Buddhist priest named Dochi Shonin prayed for one-thousand days in order to help the locals in their suffering.

On the thousandth day, it’s rumored that healing waters sprouted from the ground and became the town’s first natural hot spring, Mandara-yu.

You make the pilgrimage, hoping what you’ve heard is true.

Upon arriving, you amble through lantern-lit streets, permeated by the steam of the local onsen, the natural hot springs. A symphony of pattering geta, traditional woodblock sandals, fills the air, clacking upon stone.

For dinner, dressed in nothing but a yukata, a form of light Japanese casual wear, you sit beside other travelers at a local shop to slurp down hand-cut soba noodles.

Then, the “Onsen Meguri,” meguri being Japanese for pilgrimage, begins.

This is exactly how my first night in Kinosaki unfolded.

I arrived at Kinosaki Onsen Station after a three and a half hour journey by train from Osaka.

It was dusk; the town took on an ethereal glow. Orange lanterns swayed over the canals and bridges. The moon shimmered overhead, its light dancing on the water’s surface. I passed travelers sipping beers and sake in front of shops and in the local watering holes, donning blue and grey patterned kimono.

I checked into my ryokan, a Japanese style inn. I entered my tatami room, complete with a futon, low table and cup of tea, to find my set of geta, yukata and kimono, plus a basket to carry my belongings. Perfect.

When staying at a ryokan in Kinosaki, travelers are given a pass which allows them to come and go at their convenience between any of the seven tattoo-friendly onsen.

There are around 3,000 onsen establishments scattered across Japan, but only about 30 percent allow tattoos.

If you’re inked up yet yearning for an unforgettable onsen experience — this is Japan, it has to be done — look no further than Kinosaki, where you can roam freely without the stress of having to cover up.

The young ryokan owner seemed giddy to tell me that Kinosaki is tattoo-friendly, as if proud to be part of this progressive community.

Each of the 7 Mystic Onsen — Mandara-yu, Ko no yu, Gosho no yu, Jizo yu, Sato no yu, Ichi no yu, and Yanagiyu — has its own history, features and charm.

Some of the baths are indoors, where the built up steam adds a deeper layer of cleansing. Some remain outdoors, so visitors can lay on rocks and breathe deeply from the fresh air while enjoying the sound of waterfalls and rustling leaves.

On my first night I hit three out of seven, hoping to round out my “Onsen Meguri,” in the morning. I couldn’t stop smiling as I stepped into the winter air, emerging from each bathhouse to the sound of clacking geta and the rosy cheeks of passerbys.

It’s gotta be good for you, I thought, laying on rocks, naked, under the moon and black night sky. It makes life seem pretty simple. Maybe this is how it used to be. Simpler. Deathlier. More passionate and real. But simpler. You have the work you do, the people you love, your joys and your pains — your bathhouse — and when your time comes, you go and greet what lays beyond.

Kinosaki rises early.

At dawn I set out to explore the local hills with my camera; mist unfurled from the surrounding green mountains, shrouding the town in a gentle mystique. the landscape blinked awake.

I wanted to make the ascent up Mt. Daishi to watch the sunrise and pay my respects at Onsenji Temple, the guardian temple of Kinosaki. Alas, the passage was closed until 9am, so I ventured toward the sea.

I asked for the details
Then did I see
When I opened my eyes
They were all around me.

By 7am, when the first onsen opened their doors, I found visitors taking part in sozoro aruki, a Japanese term which means to walk leisurely and with no apparent aim.

For my first dip I hit Kono-yu, the oldest bathhouse in Kinosaki. Its serene outdoor pool immediately became my favorite. I laid back in the scalding water, gazing upon a clear morning sky.

The energy was different than from the night; I was re-centering, charging, instead of unwinding. I felt like the Oriental White Stork, who’s known to have discovered this bath when it healed its wound in the pool many moons ago.

Throughout the day, sunlight fell within the narrow alleyways and warmed the road as the sun took flight. The canals running through town glistened, as did the smiles on each passing face.

Kinosaki feels like one unified spa, as visitors can enter any store, restaurant, bar or establishment in nothing but their geta and yukata, draping on a kimono in the colder months.

This is, perhaps, the best part about Kinosaki.

When I passed others in kimono, their hair damp and their socks high, it felt like we’d traveled back in time and were experiencing something truly extraordinary together. Because we were.

After four different hot springs, I must admit, I had my fix. Two hadn’t yet opened, but I was spa’d-out.

After checking out of my ryokan, I wandered through the town’s back streets, lost in its expression of Wabi-Sabi, the Japanese philosophy of perfection in imperfection, beauty in what’s natural, mundane, broken, eternal.

The sky was inconceivably blue, the sunlight brilliant.

I continued through the fields just outside of town until I came across a simple stone torii gate, stark and stone against a backdrop of rising green pines. After passing through I sat on the top of a mossy stair set. Nobody around. Just fields and peace.

For lunch, I slipped into Masuya, a lovely little soba shop where analog clocks line the walls. There was nothing but the tantalizing pops and sizzles of the kitchen, the slurping of noodles — it doesn’t matter who you are — and the low, amiable chatter of happy guests.

The phone rang, an old-school, tinny ring which filled the store. I chowed down on the best soba noodles of my life, which I dipped into a earthen bowl of duck soup.

Back outside before boarding the train, I strayed. Sat on a bridge with the light on my face and had a smoothie. My eyes out of focus. Soul content.

There’s something marvelous about being in no rush with nowhere to go. I’d head back to Osaka when ready.